


The Great Live Stream Debacle

by Choke-a-Bro (Vanya_Deyja)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26644129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanya_Deyja/pseuds/Choke-a-Bro
Summary: Technically it was Pormpto's idea for Noctis to get a Twitch channel but no one was supposed to realise he's the Crown Prince. Like, honestly, who'd believe the Crown Prince is live streaming an ancient RPG during the mid afternoon?Chaos ensues.
Comments: 82
Kudos: 355





	The Great Live Stream Debacle

Noctis knows this is risky.

But Noctis is nineteen years old and he has his own dreams of glory. He has his own friends, his own idea of cool, things he wants to do outside his duties and so…

Well, technically it was Prompto’s idea to set up the Twitch channel anyway.

Sometimes they stream together using Noctis’s set up and Prompto’s webcams but for the most part its Noctis streaming play throughs of old RPGs till the middle of the night. Sometimes he does speed runs, sometimes just straight walk throughs with tips, but mostly he just games and talks shit to the small collection of regulars.

It is rare for a stream to get more than twenty consecutive viewers.

But the stars have aligned today and Noctis suddenly sees those words he’s been dreading manifest in the chat.

[ _Has anyone ever told you that you look heaps like the crown prince?_ ]

“I get that on days I shower,” Noctis jokes casually. He doesn’t need to panic. If he just plays this off without drawing too much attention the user will likely drop the issue and the stream can continue unhindered. Who would honestly believe the crown prince was on Twitch just playing some ancient RPG in the mid-afternoon?

[ _No, srsly dude, I meet the Prince once and you look just like him!_ ]

“I look like two thousand years of inbreeding?” Noctis deadpans as he chews through a horde. He will not engage. He will not escalate. Ignis’s warnings from a thousand strategy games ring in his ears.

[ _You’re totally the Prince, aren’t you?_ ] A second user posts suddenly.

“Oh yeah,” Noctis gestures to his darkened room, “coming to you live from the palace dungeons.”

Noctis focuses on his game, falling back to chatter about game mechanics and the development hell this particular instalment was locked in for six years.

But the stream numbers are rising steadily.

Twenty people is suddenly fifty.

One hundred.

Two hundred.

Three hundred.

Noctis is realising he’s starting to lose control of this situation. Once a fire starts you’ve only got so many options and, right now, his are pretty basic. Denial clearly isn’t working so he can either kill the stream and run for it hoping no one’s been recording his footage, become a dark web myth, or…

“I’m starting to think some of you are under the illusion I’m the crown prince,” Noctis ruminates aloud to the stream as they hit four hundred users. “Well…”

Ignis’s ingrained voice is screaming at him.

But…

“Okay, so, yeah.” Noctis throws up his hands, shoulders quirking. “Royal surprise activate?”

Five hundred users.

“New plan,” Noctis announces, “we’re restarting the game. I’m switching this bad boy over to hard mode and we’re going to speed run until either I win or the Kingsglaive bust in here to shut me down forcefully. All I ask is you donate. We’ll put everything towards a charity. Deal?”

The chat is exploding.

Six hundred users and climbing.

A twenty dollar tip.

Thirty dollars.

Forty dollars.

Noctis is going to be in so much trouble for this…

Well, might as well go down in a blaze of glory, right?

* * *

Prompto gets the text as he’s finishing up from his part time job in the shopping district. Noctis is his best friend in the whole world and it takes way less than an SOS to get Prompto to his front door. The building security know him well by now and Prompto has his own keypass to get up the elevator. He’s not supposed to have a key to the apartment but Noctis has told him where the emergency one is hidden so he lets himself in.

“I’m here!” Prompto sings. “What’s the emergency? We out of snacks?”

“In the office!” Noctis calls.

Prompto kicks off his shoes and strolls into Noctis’s room not expecting anything.

Noctis is curled up in his gaming chair at the desk, laptop and desktop with it’s multiple screens sprawled open before him. Prompto can tell the two cameras he rigged and left for their adventures are running by the recording lights and gameplay flutters across Noctis’s central screen for an old RPG. It’s one of their favourites though arguably a very broken game.

“Oh we streamin?” Prompto pulls over the second chair.

“Guys this is Prompto,” Noctis announces to the camera Prompto waves and smiles into lazily. “Prompto take my laptop, I need you to run chat. It’s getting away from me.”

“This is an emergency?” Prompto snorts, pulling over the laptop and—

Prompto’s whole orchestra of internal organs back-flip.

He’s making a noise in his throat, a kind of throaty, panicked, warble like a frog caught in an exhaust pipe.

“N-Noct—” He flusters.

“Guys tell Prompto what charity you think we should donate too.” Noctis instructs as a notification for a fifty dollar donation flashes across the screen.

Prompto gapes back at the laptop feed.

Ten thousand viewers.

“Noct, big guy,” Prompto laughs in a desperate panic, “old buddy, old pal—”

“Yeah, I know.” Noctis sighs at him while he mashes the keyboard to dispatch of a mini-boss.

“We’re going to die.” Prompto stresses. “They will never find our cute little bodies. Dead, frozen, _dispatched_.”

Ignis and Gladio flash across Prompto’s mental register.

They’re going to be in so much trouble.

Prompto has tried so hard to get Noctis’s family to like him.

“Might as well go out in a spectacular wreck, right?” Noctis grins at him from the corner of his mouth.

“I mean…” Prompto laughs breathlessly. “True dat.”

Twenty dollar donation, fifteen dollar donation, ten dollar donation…

Eleven thousand viewers…

Prompto groans and adjusts the laptop on his knees as he starts taking in the flooded chat.

“Can you set up a donations tracker on the main fed, Prom?” Noctis instructs.

“Yeah,” Prompto clicks away quickly. “SaltyMixer89 thinks we should donate to war orphans.”

“That sounds cool.” Noctis hums. “I like animals too, for the record.”

Prompto laughs; “Oppy17 wants to know your favourite animal.”

“Prompto loves chocobos,” Noctis supplies, “I prefer cats. Skinny, fat, fluffy, sleek, feral… just give me all the pussy.”

“Oh that’s going to be a gif online tomorrow,” Prompto groans.

“Eh, you only live once,” Noctis shrugs.

“We should do a Q and A.” Prompto suggests.

“Pick a charity first and then we’ll do a Q and A.” Noctis decides.

“If the Glaive don’t bust in here.” Prompto supposes.

“Yeah, that.” Noctis nods.

* * *

Gladio likes when he gets a chance to relax. It’s a rare, sacred, sort of thing when he just gets to lift weights in the privacy of his own home gym at the Amicitia estate. He’s a man of simple pleasures. An erotic novel playing in his headphones, a few sit ups…

Iris runs into the room laughing and frantic.

She’s saying something but Gladio can’t hear her over his audiobook. Even if he could she looks like she’s talking so fast he wouldn’t be able to understand her anyway.

“Hold on, hold on…” Gladio fumbles into a sitting position and fishes his ipod off the bench to pause his novel.

He assumes Iris has found a cat video or something. She’s sixteen and, as a teenage girl, she’s got the mental integrity of chocolate pudding right now.

“What?” He grunts. “What’s wrong?”

“Noct’s on Twitch!” Iris laughs, delighted.

“What?” Gladio frowns.

“Noct’s streaming, right now!” Iris bounces on her heels.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gladio turns back to his ipod.

“I’m serious! Look!” Iris thrusts her little laptop at him.

Groaning Gladio takes it and—

“— _I kind of have to be good at history. It’s like a prerequisite. And like, it’s cool, but I always liked the weird parts of history way better. Like when they had legit vampire hunting kits for tourists because a short story got really popular and convinced everyone vampires were real and_ —”

Noctis.

That’s Noctis.

That’s Noctis on his computer screen talking shit. Prompto is sitting behind him in the small window and one of their stupid fucking games is playing in the main feed and—

“How many people are watching this?” Gladio demands.

Please don’t say a lot, please don’t say—

“Like twenty thousand people!” Iris announces. “Cera from school texted me demanding to know if it’s really him and like—”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Gladio whispers.

He’s so dead.

Gladio sits the laptop on his bench and snatches up his phone.

“Who’re you calling?” Iris blinks.

“Back up.” Gladio murmurs, head spinning.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—

* * *

Ignis doesn’t exactly believe it when Gladio starts going off in his ear-piece on their private line. He insists Gladio wait till he gets back to his office before they really start panicking. Slipping into his desk chair, Gladio on the phone, he calmly instructs Gladio to give him the name of the Twitch channel and he’s not worried as he types it into the search bar.

Noctis wouldn’t.

Noctis is wilful and stubborn and---

But Noctis is not stupid.

He wouldn’t be streaming on some uncontrolled public gaming website like a cam girl.

Ignis has raised him better than that and, if nothing else, Noctis fears Ignis’s mama-bear wrath.

Gladio must be mistaken.

Ignis, Ignis has changed Noctis’ diapers. He will know Noctis’ pretty little face and his cadence in a split second. You can’t fool Ignis, no matter how convincing your likeness, and this nobody is probably just riding out the surge of viewers to get some clout. An internet streamer would be crazy not to capitalise on such a misunderstanding so—

Ignis inhales sharply.

Ignis is pretty sure he chokes on his own spit.

That’s Noctis’s office at his inner-city apartment. That’s the desk chair Ignis had to special order for a birthday present. That’s Noctis’s favourite RPG. That’s Prompto’s dumb little face in the corner screen and that’s…

“— _I’m not convinced gluten is the secret to weight loss. Like pretty much everything has gluten right? And its just, like, a bonding agent or something. It’s not like sugar or anything. It’s not inherently bad, is it?_ ”

Noctis.

Noctis Lucis Caelum.

“ _I dunno man_ ,” Prompto swivels in the chair next to him, “ _I think some people are way better off without it cause of intolerance and stuff but, yeah, I don’t think it’s inherently fattening or anything._ ”

“ _Oh man this is making me hungry_ ,” Noctis ruminates. “ _Do we have ice cream?_ ”

“ _Make this into a mukbang!_ ” Prompto laughs.

“Gladio I’m going to need to call you back,” Ignis clips into his earpiece.

“Please make him stop.” Gladio pleads.

Ignis hangs up.

Ignis swipes his personal phone out of his desk drawer and he has never dialled so fast in his life.

You can subtly hear the phone buzzing on Noctis’s desk but, working through a mini-game, Noctis nudges the phone towards Prompto. Prompto picks it up, laptop across his knees, and visibly pales.

“ _Oh dude…_ ” Prompto wheezes. “ _It’s Iggy._ ”

 _“Should we answer it?”_ Noctis ponders on stream.

“Pick up.” Ignis orders at the screen, phone pressed to his ear. “Pick up right now young man.”

Thirty thousand viewers and climbing.

“ _I mean…_ ” Prompto hesitates, “ _are you going to stop?_ ”

“ _Nah man, too late for that_ ,” Noctis declares. “ _Just send it to voicemail._ ”

“Don’t you dare—!” Ignis shrieks at the screen but it’s too late.

Fuming Ignis redials.

“ _So, that’s Ignis Scientia, my Hand,_ ” Noctis explains into the camera. “ _He’s probably caught wind of what we’re doing. He’s like… Like Super Palace Mum. So I’m probably in loads of trouble about now._ ”

“I’m going to kill you,” Ignis whispers, listening to Prompto send him to voicemail again. “They’re never going to find your body. Your button nose will be in Leide, your tiny toes will be in—”

“ _For what it’s worth_ ,” Noctis explains to the stream, “ _we’re fundraising for charity right now. Almost at twenty thousand dollars already, which is crazy! So, good cause? Also, sorry if you’re watching Iggy! Love you!_ ”

Ignis screams into his hands.

Ignis takes a deep, deep, breath.

He cannot let this escalate to King Regis.

He’d never be able to show his face in public again.

* * *

Cor is training Crownsguard. It’s a warm afternoon, pleasant almost, but after running laps and sword training everyone is decidedly wrecked. Cor could do this all day, mind you, but he’s a seasoned veteran.

He feels his comm. buzz in his ear and accepts the call lazily.

This is a private line. Only the upper retainers have access to him directly and some of the lower level retainers for emergencies.

“What’s up?” Cor grunts.

“Marshall!” Ignis sounds relieved. “We have an emergency. Please, I need your assistance.”

“What’s the issue?” Cor supposes.

“The Prince is— Uh,” Ignis fumbles. “Sir, do you know what Twitch is?”

“What?” Cor frowns.

“It’s an online streaming service. People watch content creators play music or video games or any manner of things.” Ignis tries to explain briskly.

“Right,” Cor thinks he understands that. “What’s this got to do with the Prince?”

“He’s live streaming to forty thousand people right now.”

“…” Cor takes that on board for a second. “I’m sorry what?”

“The Prince is live, right now.” Ignis repeats.

“What’s he doing?” Cor tries to fathom this.

“He’s playing Crusaders of Annelle IV.”

Cor…

Cor needs a second.

Cor pinches the bridge of his nose.

“And…” He’s struggling right now. “What do you want me to do about this exactly?”

“We need to stop him! Right now!” Ignis demands. “This is a public relations disaster!”

“And how am I supposed to…?” Cor doesn’t have the right words.

“I don’t know!” Ignis admits frantically. “But we have to do _something!_ ”

“Have you tried going over to his apartment?” Cor supposes.

“We’re worried about the optics of shutting him down like that as it’s essentially a public site right now.” Ignis admits.

“Well I can’t just shut off power to his whole building, Ignis,” Cor rues.

“But you have to!” Ignis demands.

“Can we get the site to ban him or…?” Cor doesn’t know how these things work. He’s not a young man anymore.

“Well—” Ignis fumbles. “I’m not sure. I don’t have any contacts at that organisation. I never thought we would need any, to be fair.”

Cor sighs. “You’re going to need to go to Clarus.”

“Oh no, please—” Ignis sounds tangibly dismayed.

“This is above my pay-grade, Ignis,” Cor confesses.

Ignis gives a pained, wrought, groan across the line. It’s the kind of sound Cor has only heard from dying animals in the field.

“It’s been an honour serving with you,” Cor quips darkly.

“I want to be cremated, for the record,” Ignis sighs.

* * *

Regis has been locked in several public relations meetings all morning; a session with a portrait artist, an interview about the war effort, that sort of thing. He takes only a few moments in his private bathroom to get himself together and yet, when he returns to his suite, his Shield is whispering frantically into his earpiece with a tablet lit up in his hand.

“—it’s a multi-million dollar web company, surely we have one contact in their administration.” Clarus hisses in his earpiece.

“Something wrong, Clarus?” Regis moves slowly towards him, as quickly as his cane will allow him to move these days.

“Uh—” Clarus whips around.

Clarus has this expression, like when they were children, like he’s being caught doing something mischievous.

“What?” Regis snorts. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing Reg,” Clarus insists, “I just need to solve this, real quick. I’ll give you the details after—”

“— _Harlequin Dreamscape is like the coolest comic series of the last ten years and you can fight me on that. It’s totally raw and emotional and_ —”

“Is that Noctis?” Regis blinks, grabbing the tablet out of Clarus’s dismayed fingers.

Regis uses some complicated systems in his duties but it doesn’t leave him much time for recreational internet usage. Noctis is much better with such things, being a child of the digital age. When Regis was young internet still came screaming through the phone lines.

Regis notices a lot of things at once. There’s an animated screen with what looks like pirates, a side bar of rolling text loading too fast for him to track without his reading glasses, and in the corner is footage of Noctis and his dear school friend Prompto. They look like they’re doing something quite involved.

“Is this a new monitoring system or…?” Regis tries to understand.

“Not exactly,” Clarus wheezes.

Regis frowns. “Then what exactly?” He presses.

* * *

Noctis is surprised no one has slammed through his front door yet.

They’re a fifty thousand viewers and more than seventy thousand gil in donations.

It’s probably hour four or five of the stream and Noctis is making good progress through the game. He’s played it many times and trying to speed run he skips all the non-essential content.

Prompto has gotten them snacks and entertained the stream for five minutes while Noctis took a bathroom break an hour ago.

Ignis hasn’t tried to call again but Noctis is under no illusions he’s in the dark about what’s going on. Ignis knows, absolutely certain, but if he’s not calling then he’s likely escalated the situation. It’s kind of eerie. Like being in a bunker before the bomb goes off.

Noctis isn’t sure if they’ll flip off power to his building or just storm in with force.

They don’t need to, Gladio and Ignis have a key to his place, but that would probably be cooler than being chastised publicly by Ignis in front of fifty thousand anonymous viewers.

“This boss sucks,” Prompto whines, swivelling lazily in the second office chair. “Oh! JustMyRealHair wants to know how tall Gladio is?”

“Too tall,” Noctis shakes his head. “Like at a certain point he just has to stop growing or he’s going to start hitting ceiling fans.”

“I want to be taller.” Prompto sighs.

“Wear heels.” Noctis supplies.

“I’d break my neck.” Prompto rues.

“Nah man, there are like…” Noctis waves his hand while still trying to play. “There are these guy shoes you can get that have hidden platforms in them to make you taller. Crowe was showing me. It’s like a whole thing.”

“That’s cool man!” Prompto chirps. “Though platform heels are like—”

Noctis’s phone is buzzing again.

Prompto has taken over phone duty and brings the screen up to his face to inspect the caller ID.

Prompto looks like he just shaved five years off his life expectancy.

“What?” Noctis pauses the game.

“It’s—it’s—” Prompto warbles, fumbling the phone to Noctis.

“Holy shit,” Noctis wheezes. “It’s my _dad._ ”

The chat starts to explode.

[ _As in the King?]_

_[No way!]_

_[OMG BUSTED!]_

_[Say hi from us!_ ]

“Should I…?” Noctis panics.

“Dude you can’t send the King to voicemail!” Prompto shoves him roughly. “I didn’t agree to commit treason with you!”

“R-right,” Noctis slides the bar across his smart phone, pressing the cell to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi Noctis,” Regis greets, “this is very surreal. I can see you on the live feed.”

“Heh, yeah…” Noctis waves sheepishly into the camera.

“Can you put me on speaker for everyone, Noctis?” Regis supposes patiently.

“Um…” Noctis feels his gut twist. “Just—I just need a second to adjust the levels. Hold on.”

“Take your time,” Regis encourages.

Noctis and Prompto, with a little frantic half whispering, move to turn off the notification noises and up the feed on their mics.

Putting the phone on speaker in his hand Noctis laughs, terrified;

“Okay, you’re live.”

“Good evening everyone,” Regis greets warmly.

The chat is going off.

“Noctis, I’m very bad at this sort of thing, but Ignis tells me you’ve been running a fundraiser for charity?” Regis supposes.

“Uh—Yeah,” Noctis fumbles. “Seventy thousand for children and refugees effected by the war.”

“That’s fantastic!” Regis delights.

“You’re not mad…?” Noctis wheezes.

“I mean…” Regis snorts. “We’re going to need to talk about this later, young man, but for right now? Try to watch your language and have fun with your stream. Is that what it’s called? A stream?”

“You’re not shutting us down?” Prompto blurts before he can stop himself, hands flying up over his mouth in horror a second later.

“Things have been very hard for everyone in Lucis this year,” Regis replies calmly. “I think we could all use a little joy and entertainment. No one’s been hurt tonight and you’re raising money for a good cause. So, just this once, you have my royal blessing to finish your adventure.”

Noctis laughs weakly.

“Thanks Dad.”


End file.
